


Could Have Been

by Ecanus



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecanus/pseuds/Ecanus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's often said that during the last few moments before you die, your life flashes before your eyes, and your regrets take center stage. With dismay, Dignitary finds it's just that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could Have Been

**Author's Note:**

> A quick little drabble inspired by some fanart drawn by tumblr user umbritis some months ago that I forgot to post here. This takes place in the Beta Kids' session, after the moon has been cut from Derse. Enjoy!

Somehow you thought you’d make it.

It’s ridiculous, you know. You should have expected to die on this severed moon drifting into the void, rigged to explode. There isn’t much hope for escape. You’re the Dignitary. You’re rational. You’re realistic. You should have seen it coming. But for some reason you didn’t.

For some reason you thought you’d be able to kill these Derse dreamers and defuse the Tumor. For some reason you thought you’d drift back to a moonless planet and resume rule. For some reason the only thought in your mind was that you would win.

And now all you can think, as a broken sword sheers through your throat, is that the reason—what made you so stupidly optimistic, so determined—is him.

You sort of hate yourself for it, because you know that there is more to it than loyalty. The word that comes to mind is bitter and disgusting as it rolls along your tongue, refusing to be swallowed but refusing as well to be spit. It is foreign. It is not you, not the Dignitary, a cold hard man that shouldn’t feel anything but contempt.

Yet time slows until it seems that the few milliseconds the blade should take to sever your head last forever, and the only memories, the only regrets, the only emotions that come to mind—

are of him.

You watch as, clear as day, visions play across your blank eyes.

First it’s his office. You’re stepping inside. It’s the first time the two of you met. He’s yelling at some Dersite who didn’t tally their military expenses properly, but you’re not really paying attention. ‘Short brat’ are the first words to enter your mind. However, as you observe, you realize that behind his crude language and straining voice, his speech is precise. Logical and direct. Sharp, you might say. You grew close to him rather quickly.

You never understood why people enjoyed the company of others. To you they always seemed a burden or a nuisance. But he broke that. Through his temper and openness of his ideas, you grew almost unconsciously fond of his presence.

Nothing more than that. Nothing more, you told yourself.

But the next vision plays. Like deja vu, you’re stepping into that same office, but someone else is there. Her.

They’re dancing in the dark—a dance of mouths and teeth and heat. As quietly as possible, you close the door, leaving them to waltz to a beat only they can hear.

The vision subsides, but you can perceive what you felt in that moment. The growing anger. So many times he’d said he hated her; every time you saw him. Somehow you felt you’d been betrayed. Like it was personal.

But it’s not. It’s not, you told yourself.

Another vision—the last—appears to you. It’s from today and yet it seems so long ago. You’re talking to him on the radio. He killed her hours ago, but he’s still on a rampage. You tell him in your usual monotonous tone to keep his destructive impulses to a minimum. He mutters a reluctant agreement. And you wonder if it’s finally subsiding—this rage, this undying anger and obsession with her and her alone. There’s a strange sense of hope twisting in your stomach.

Then he’s muttering about some human girl. You don’t miss the praises, even as he sputters to take it all back. You fall silent for a moment.

You want to say something.

But what?

_What about me, Jack? Do you remember all the things I’ve done for you?_

_I gave you everything Jack._

_They gave you nothing._

… You keep your mouth shut.

Because somehow, in that moment, you knew nothing you said could change anything. Because to him you’ve always been just a pawn. Just another tool. Nothing he does is for you. Everything is for her. The hate, the destruction, this puppy love brought on by the prototyping. For her.

She is his world, even in death.

As the metal finally slices through your carapace, you swear that you hear a gunshot. One bullet, a universe-length away and yet right beside you.

Somehow you know. In your final moments, as your brain registers that your body is no longer there, you know. You know that somewhere out there, there is another Jack, and another Queen, and they’re dancing that same dance in the dark.

And there is another you.

Watching from afar.

Desponding over the same words as your life blinks away.

_I could have been your world_

_I could have been your universe_

_I was always there for you_

_So why wasn’t I?_

**Author's Note:**

> The last few lines are a parody of the lyrics from the song "Your Universe" from the Homestuck Soundtrack. Thank you for reading! uwu


End file.
